


Warging to find you

by Corporate_Blood



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Because Sandor and Stannis are as smooth as sandpaper, Brooding, Character musing, Cuz Sandor and Stannis are broody bois, Cuz she's a good girl, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Kissing, Lady Lives (ASoIaF), Mild Language, Minor Angst, One Shot, One Shot Collection, One Shot Mini Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Fluff, The Eyrie (A Song of Ice and Fire), The Red Keep (ASoIaF), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Wargs & Warging (A Song of Ice and Fire), Winterfell, each chapter is a one shot, first time writing romance, yes both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corporate_Blood/pseuds/Corporate_Blood
Summary: The three times Sansa went to find her SO.Or: The Valentine's Day special warging fluff + some character musings-------Also, check outthis videofor more fluff
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44





	1. Sansan - While in Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I quite like Sansan, Creepyship (which is rude because Tywin and Roose are at least on par with Petyr if not worse yet they get proper ship names and Petyr is still the bad guy? /side rant over), and Stansa so I made a one-shot mini collection for them.
> 
> First up; Sansan!

The war had been won, the realm had been saved, and the little bird was back home. It hadn’t been easy, especially escaping the Battle of Blackwater and trekking across the kingdoms (additionally difficult when the little bird insisted upon taking her damned direwolf with her), but Sandor had done it. He helped reclaim Winterfell, came face to face with the Others, survived the Long Night, and lived to see Spring.

_So why did Sandor feel so...hollow?_

His brother was dead, then undead, then dead for good. The Lannisters were killed and their house had crumbled. The Dragon Queen and the Wolf King sat upon the throne as equals (the bringing together of ice and fire or however they justified their incest) and from them Sandor had received a full pardon and rewards for his good service in the form of a fancy title and a decent patch of land. Somewhere quiet and safe, far away from the many cunts he’s had to deal with throughout the years. He should be at least content.

_And yet…_

Sandor sighed and drank more of the ale. He sat in his chambers, awake whilst the rest of Winterfell slept. Lady Sansa, Lady Stark now, had graciously allowed him to stay and rest after the hard-fought battle. He had expected to be staying in the winter town or be shipped off down to his new lands. Instead, he was staying in Winterfell itself as Lady Stark’s ‘esteemed and personal guest’ she had said. In private she thanked him for saving her and kissed his cheek. Sandor felt his face warm at the memory but shook his head to clear away his thoughts.

“Old fool,” he cursed. Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell, as close to a Queen in the North as the actual Queen would allow, her husband would no doubt be Warden of the North and would have to come from an old family drowning in noble blood to match the pure Stark genes she possessed. 

Sandor had bounced between being son of a landed knight, to sworn shield to the biggest cunt in the land, to kingsguard of said cunt, to wanted dog with a sizable bounty on his head in possession of the key to the north. And now he was a landed lord. A minor lord but he wasn’t looking to play politics. By some luck, he had come out of the war on the right side of things. 

_But was he happy?_

He instantly scoffed and downed half the remaining ale. He didn’t deserve happiness, not after all the shit he’d done. Not many people deserved happiness, as the cunt to good person ration was extremely unbalanced, but Sansa was one of the few. And if he’d helped her get it, well, that was good enough for him.

As he sat swirling the ale in his cup, he heard some creaks in the corridor. They weren’t full footsteps and something or someone was taking care to be quiet. Sobered by the thought of some catspaw in the castle, he grabbed his sword and made his way to the door. He listened intently with his ear pressed to the wood. He counted the creaks and waited until the mystery source was put a few steps from his room before charging into the corridor.

A bellowing roar meant to confuse and frighten left his mouth, sword raising up for a forceful thrust. A responding yelp and the scrabble of paws gave him pause. He blinked and peered into the dimly lit corridor. Yellow eyes gazed back at him, grey fur blending in with the shadows but he could see the outline of a creature much bigger than an ordinary dog.

“What the seven hells are you doing?” He sighed, letting his sword arm drop to his side.

Lady did not answer for she was a direwolf but her head did tilt in the same way Sansa’s did when she disapproved of his swearing and blasphemy. 

“Disapprove all you want,” he said, dismissing her with a hand gesture. “The little bird won’t want you wandering the castle this late at night.”

Lady’s posture straightened, drawing to her full height, and her eyes narrowed slightly in challenge. Sandor had also seen this look upon Sansa whenever a lord had tried to talk down to her, though it was colder on the direwolf’s long face.

Sandor rolled his eyes and headed back into his room, the wolf guest following. The sword was replaced in its sheath and hung on the wall. He picked up the cup of ale and held it out to the wolf. “Want some?” She sniffed and then wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Suit your bloody self,” he shrugged, draining the cup and feeling slightly mad for having a conversation with the wolf. Lady was much more intelligent than she let on and it was almost scary how sentient she was. “You’re still here?” He asked, scowling down at her.

She scowled right back and resisted when he tried to shoo her out. She weaved between his legs when he tried to shepherd her out and dodged the sheathed sword he tried to use to nudge her out. 

“I’m _this_ close to losing my temper and saying some things that will offend your delicate ears,” he growled, flicking the top of her pointed ears. Lady growled low in her throat but made no move to bite. She could do some serious damage if she wanted to. “Go back to the little bird and leave me alone,” he huffed, turning his back to the wolf as he readied for bed. He’d only just taken off his boots when he felt her pawing at his leg and whining. “What?”

She crossed to the door and then looked back at him pointedly. With a sigh, he pulled his boots back on. “I’ll box your bloody ears if this is a wild goose chase.” With another sigh, he followed Lady down the corridor. 

* * *

It was only when they began to climb a set of stairs that lead to a familiar door that Sandor wised up. He was drunk, tired, and way too deep in thought to think clearly but even he knew going into Sansa’s chambers in the middle of the night is a bad idea. There were no guards at her door which caused anger to flare in him. Lady sat by the door and waited.

“Well go on then,” he snapped. She merely looked from him to the handle of the closed door. Muttering to himself, he turned the handle and pushed open the door. Lady gracefully trotted inside going straight to the bed where Sansa lay sleeping. He should slam the door shut and hightail it back to his chambers. That’s what he should do but he was rooted to the spot as the Lady of Winterfell awoke with a yawn.

“Sandor?” She called out.

“I’m here, little bird,” he replied gruffly.

She laughed a little at this and slipped from the sheets. She wrapped a robe around herself as she rounded the bed. He was still frozen in the doorway. “You know, I don’t think I ever properly thanked you,” she said, purposefully coy.

He snorted, regaining some agency over his body as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Thanks don’t mean shit.”

She reached him and looked up through her long eyelashes. Those blue eyes ensnared him and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. “Maybe you’ll change your mind once I give you a kiss.”

Blood was roaring in his ears, which was better than pooling south, and he couldn’t wrap his head around her words even as they bounced around his brain. “Little bird-”

“Sansa.”

 _“Sansa,_ you don’t have to-”

“But I want to.” She ducked her head as if suddenly shy. “That is if you want to as well.”

If _he_ wants to? His view was a damn sight prettier than hers even in the gloom. Half his face was melted and the rest of it didn’t classify as handsome. She on the other hand... _Gods_ where to begin? The pale, utterly flawless skin, the red hair that fell like a waterfall over her shoulders, the long column of neck that looked oh so bite-able, those pink lips that were begging to be kissed...

Before he knew it, he’d given a fraction of a nod and her face lit up. Automatically, he shifted to align their lips. She was soft and warm and tasted of lemon cakes - he knew she would. He internally grimaced as he was coarse and tasted of ale but she didn’t seem to mind. Her hands, so small and callus free, found his face. He would have flinched when she touched his scar had she been anyone else but Sansa. His hands, large and callused from wielding a sword, found her hips and gave a small squeeze. She gasped into the kiss and they pulled back for air a moment later. She gazed at him, eyes sparkling and a smile upon her face.

“How long?” He asked, voice slightly hoarse. 

“Well, I considered kissing you at the Battle of Blackwater when you came to save me. And then considered it many times throughout the years,” she confessed. Her head then tilted to the right. “And you?”

“Forever,” he murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It was the sappiest thing he had ever said and he would have thrown up if he were witnessing another pair. But things were different in the moment. She blushed at his words, turning nearly as red as her hair. “Wait, but why was Lady out of your chambers? And where the seven hells are your guards?” He demanded.

“A Stark and their direwolf share a special bond and through it I can ‘warg’ into Lady. We become one body, one mind, one soul. It’s rather interesting seeing the world through her eyes,” she explained. “And I gave the guards the night off. Poor things needed some sleep."

“They’ll be permanently sleeping when I get my hands on them,” he threatened, grip tightening on her hips.

Her eyes narrowed, the look Lady - or was it technically Sansa? - had given him earlier that night upon her face. “You will do no such thing. They were following direct commands given to them by the Lady of Winterfell herself."

He grunted. “Quit sneaking around as the mutt, sounds too much like a catspaw. Might have scared the shit out of some servants attempting to chase you off.”

Amusement melted away her colder expression. “And I’m sure they will receive your most heartfelt apologies in the morning.”

He looked unimpressed which made her laugh and she pulled him in for another kiss.


	2. Creepyship - Nestled in the Eyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr works late into the night, as is his habit. The wheels are constantly spinning in his mind and there's so much to think about.
> 
> A little peace comes when a certain direwolf slips into his solar and stays a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petyr puts the bae in Baelish.
> 
> That is all.

Sat at his desk with candlelight warding off the darkness pressing against the windows, Lord Baelish took the opportunity to think. Oh, he was always thinking, his mind turning over the carefully laid plans and spinning tales on the fly. But now was the time to not only think but to _reflect._

Nestled in the Eyrie, he had bought up the debts of many a noble house and gained their loyalty, the granaries were filled to bursting, and the key to the north was tucked safely away. All they had to do was hunker down for winter and rise again in spring. Indeed, with Sansa Stark’s backing, he was given an extension for his Lord Protector status. Sweetrobin was still a sickly boy and many feared he would not survive the winter. But sickly boys can turn into great and dangerous men - though even he doubted Sweetrobin would get there. 

His mind flittered to Cat, always back to Cat. An invisible hand squeezed his heart as he recalled the news the Lannisters had given him - the result of the Frey/Tully wedding, better known as the _Red Wedding._ Reports were conflicting, the ego-boosting boasts muddling the truth, but the truth was Cat had watched her eldest child die and then her throat was cut. Had he known just what the Lannisters and Freys and Boltons were planning…

_You could not save her,_ logic hissed.

_But you should have tried,_ emotion whispered. 

She did not want him, that much was obvious. She abandoned him in his darkest hour, never replied to the letter he sent, and was as cold as the North when they had spoken all those years later. And then, with foolish boyish naivete (naivete he thought he’d long killed), he’d lost her for good. She was dead to him long before the Freys delivered the final blow. 

The unlocked door was then pushed open and the head of the beautifully brushed beast nudged inside.

“I didn’t think the Hour of the Wolf would be so literal,” he quipped as the direwolf padded over to the desk. He gestured to the empty guest chair and she considered it for a moment before settling by his side. He supposed it was time to push away the reflection and get on with penning the various letters he had been putting off. As he dipped his quill in ink and hunched over the desk slightly, Lady shifted to be closer with her head resting on his knee. The gentle scratching of his quill filled the comfortable silence, words forming and reforming in his mind before he committed them to parchment. So many concerns to think about and none of them the thing he wanted to concentrate on. 

His free hand moved to rest upon Lady’s head, gently petting her. It was a soothing action for them both and he took care to avoid catching her fur with his rings. She was soft to the touch and warm, leaning her sturdy frame against him. Despite her being the smallest of the liter, she was still bigger than any other hound and heavier with it. After a while, his leg began to tingle as the weight of her large fang-filled skull bore down on his knee completely. The numbness was uncomfortable to be sure, but Lady looked so content and it would do no good to upset either the wolf or her owner.

_Weakness must be destroyed,_ logic dictated. But by what logic did it make sense to needlessly upset Sansa? No, no, he would choose his battles carefully and this would not be worth it. 

As the night wore on, Petyr’s eyelids began to grow heavy. He put down his quill and rubbed his aching wrist. Scrolls were rolled up and seals stamped onto them - some the Arryn falcon, others his own personal mockingbird - and tucked into his pockets. The quill and inkwell were returned to the desk draw, along with the wax and stamps. He gave Lady a scratch behind the ears and a playful tap on the snout. 

“Come along, my lady,” he said and she needed no further prompting to move. She stood and stretched; jaws open wide in a yawn, paws splayed wide, spine arched up with her tail extended, and her fur bristling. He too stood up and spent a moment trying to inject some feeling into his leg - aside the tingle of pins and needles, that is. “Sansa is forever brushing you and you continue to shed? You’ll be bald before you know it,” he japes, dusting the loose grey fur from his breeches. Lady gives him an incredulous look - or as close to one as a direwolf can manage. He laughed and interlocked his fingers, stretching out his arms, his back clicking in the process. The candle, now burnt low, was snuffed out just before they left his solar.

* * *

Petyr locked the door before they crossed the covered bridge from the Lord Protector’s apartments to the hall. First, he led the way to Maester Colemon’s solar and left the scrolls with the Arryn falcon with the maester’s assistant, explaining which scrolls would be sent where and the boy went off to do his task. Then as he made his way to his chambers, several servant girls passed him. One carried sheets to be washed, another a basket of fruit for the kitchens. Clothes to be mended were bundled in yet another’s arms, empty goblets and jugs from guest chambers were carried by a different girl. A girl was even heading in the direction of where he had just come from, a basket of fresh ingredients for the maester on her arm. To each girl in turn he slipped a scroll bearing the mockingbird which they hid discreetly about their person. Lady kept pace with him, unnerving some girls with her curious sniffs, and it wasn’t long before they were ascending the stairs to his chambers. 

_And, indeed, where Sansa lay sleeping too._

Managing to stretch the meaning of family, he convinced the lords and ladies of the Vale to put her chambers near his own. It was certainly no small feat and Sansa’s spectacular, and teary, performance sealed the deal. As they reached the top of the stairs, he gave Lady a pat on the head before turning left to head to his own chamber. She was quick to dart in front of him and block the way. Well, not really, but he stopped regardless.

He rose an eyebrow at her. She looked expectantly at him, those yellow eyes meeting his green-grey. “Can I help you?” He asked. He always felt slightly insane to be speaking aloud to Lady, especially in a direct address. But she seemed to understand and this time was no different. She gave a brief nod and went past him, brushing against his legs, before stopping once a few paces away. She looked at him and then Sansa’s door. From him to the door and back again. She was...inviting him in? 

Spending the night with Sansa was the exact opposite of unpleasant, even if he was too tired to do anything besides sleep. Could he resist and go back to his own chambers? _Of course,_ logic decried, _whatever ‘feelings’ he held for the girl would not dictate his actions nor anchor him to one ship. If this ship did sink, he’d jump like all the times he had before._

His scar burned now, remembering the first (and last) time he had stayed stubborn on a losing course. 

_This time will be different,_ emotion promised. 

Petyr walked over to Sansa’s door and opened it. “Ladies first,” he said with a mock bow. She hit him with her tail as she trotted in and he followed, closing the door quietly. He stripped down to his small clothes under those watchful yellow eyes and put his clothes on a vacant chair before slipping into bed. Sansa rolled over to face him, bleary blue eyes peering at him in the gloom.

“Petyr?” She croaked, voice thick with sleep.

“Shush shush, go back to sleep sweetling,” he coos, kissing her on the forehead. She curls up in his arms though her lips seek out his. The kiss is short and chaste though pleasant all the small; she tastes like lemon cake, he like mint leaves.

She pulls back a moment later with a content sigh. “You should come to bed sooner.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes, or do I have to be more persuasive?”

A chuckle left his lips. “You’re plenty persuasive, sweetling.” His hand traced her womanly curves, the action leaving behind goosebumps on her skin.

“Good. Though sending Lady isn’t bad, you smell amazing through her nose.”

“Through her nose?” He asked, glancing at the direwolf. Lady had settled at the foot of the bed and was now fast asleep.

Sansa nodded. “Warging. The mint really...mmm, pops,” she yawned. 

He chuckled again, stifling his own yawn, and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. “I see. Well, let’s get some sleep, you clearly need it.”

She gives him a light shove to the chest, careful to avoid his scar, and they settle. _Bloody Starks,_ he thinks, _could very well be the death of me._

  
_And they will be,_ an eerie voice whispers in the back of his mind as he drifted off, _if you don’t reign this foolishness in._


	3. Stansa - Re-established in the Red Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis is King, Sansa his new Queen. His mind is a whirl with no end in sight, even after the wars are won and his enemies brought to justice. 
> 
> Perhaps she can relax him, even for a moment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's officially Valentine's Day! Enjoy this final chapter with some Stansa content ^_^

The wars had been won, the wrongful claimants dealt with, and the seven kingdoms united as they rebuilt.

All overseen by King Stannis Baratheon.

It had been a long road from Lord of Dragonstone to rightful heir but he had made it. Many along the way had not. Melisandre had left his camp when she resurrected Jon Snow - proclaiming the bastard to be the true Azor Ahai. Needless to say, her treason was noted, and when Snow fell in battle and Stannis took the throne her pleas for mercy did not save her. 

Others were similarly dealt with. Daenerys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister, ‘Aegon Targaryen’, Tommen ‘Baratheon’, Petyr Baelish, all the Boltons and the Freys involved in the Red Wedding, and everyone else who refused to bend the knee. The houses were too weak to rebel and their bannermen fell quickly in line. ‘The North remembers’ and so to get them on side, he married Sansa Stark after Seylse died. Selyse perished a year or two before it was all over, disease had sunk its claws into her, and they had to burn the body so she did not rise as a wight. Shireen had remarkable strength and he was grateful his only child made it out alive.

Davos Seaworth had also survived and was appointed Hand of the King. Very few were in a place to complain but the nobles did grumble. 

With a shake of the head, the king cleared his thoughts and got back to replying to correspondence. After an hour or so of peace, one of the Baratheon guards poked his head inside the solar.

“Queen Sansa’s direwolf is here, your grace,” the man said.

He rose an eyebrow. “Is Queen Sansa not also here?”

“No, your grace.” He could hear the wolf whine a little and sniff at the door. 

“Send her in,” he said with an irritable sigh. The man complied and the wolf trotted in. The direwolf, Lady, had been given free roam of the Red Keep - with the understanding that Queen Sansa was with her and that the wolf wasn’t a nuisance. Sansa had complied and Stannis knew the creature was clean, calm, and quiet. Why in Westeros Lady was out at night whilst Sansa was, presumably, asleep in the Maidenvault was a question to be brought up at a later date. For now, he got back to work.

She looks around his tidy solar, which was mostly devoid of everything bar the basics. She rounded the desk and settled at his side, leaning against his leg slightly. Sitting mostly still bar some slight fidgeting, he was able to focus and almost forgot she was there. Their steady breathing, the gentle crackle of the fire, and the light scratch of his quill filled the relative peace.

There were so many orders to give out. The stonemasons and carpenters would be rallied for building repairs. Shipbuilders were to be commissioned for the rebuilding of the royal fleet, smiths were to be busy at work building armour and weapons for the new recruits to replenish the army. Just the political side of building new relationships with the various houses and maintaining them was tiring enough. Stannis was, in truth, bone tired. All he wanted to do was sleep - dreamlessly as well. But it doesn’t matter what he wants, what he _needs_ to do is fulfil his duty.

He takes a break and rolls some tension from his shoulders, glancing down at Lady. Her yellow eyes gazed up at him. An emotion gleamed in her eyes, one he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t pity for he knew pity well. Looks of pity had been cast his way since his parents died and they’d haunted him since. They’d recently resurfaced when Seylse died and then were directed at Sansa. _‘Poor thing, to be married to the dour king,’_ he heard ladies whisper. 

His jaw clenched at the reminders, but he recognised that this is different. It was pity but more genuine - _compassion._ He bristled slightly but narrowed his eyes. “Go lay down,” he ground out. She got up and moved to lay in front of the hearth. She faced him and the fire gave her a red glow, which reminded him of Sansa’s hair.

* * *

It was the Hour of the Wolf when he decided to call it a night. He’d be up around dawn anyway. Clearing his desk, he stood and called Lady to heel before striding from the solar. The two Baratheon guards shadowed him as they walked to Maegor’s Holdfast. It was a quick journey, one he didn’t register until he was approaching his chambers. Lady followed him and he allowed this with a small sigh. It would be easy enough to shoo her off to the Maidenvault down the secret passage between the two chambers. For now, he changed for bed. 

He did find it slightly odd that Lady observed him changing but she was a wolf so what did it matter? He’d been married twice and was certainly no shy maiden who had to preserve his modesty. His body was lean, periods of starvation over the long winter robbing him of muscle, and was covered in scars. They were testaments to his survival. Dark hair covered his arms, legs, and chest with a certain trail going from his stomach to below his belt. Once in his bedclothes, he crossed the room to the entrance to the secret passage - which was concealed behind a tapestry and blended into the wall. He opened said entrance and then looked at Lady pointedly. 

“Go back to Sansa,” he ordered. She didn’t budge. He repeated the command again and she still didn’t move. With a sigh, the king resigned himself to playing the shepherd. It seemed to work and she was stubborn enough to force him to follow all the way down the steps. He reached the other door and turned the handle, finding it unlocked. Lady happily made her way inside and he froze, rooted to the spot. He hadn’t been in her chambers since their wedding night and they hadn’t performed their duty since then. 

“Husband?” Sansa called out, still half asleep.

“Yes?” He managed to reply. 

“Come join me.”

“I’m in no mood to do so. And Lady should not be wandering the Keep at this hour, I will send her back to the kennel if you cannot-”

“Stannis, please?”

Stannis did not like feeling powerless but in that moment he was unable to resist. He shut the door and slowly crossed to the other side of the bed. He hesitated before parting the curtains and joining her under the covers. His body went as stiff as a board, every muscle tensing. He was hot beneath the proverbial collar and not from lust. Pure embarrassment made his cheeks red but as she gazed at him she didn’t seem to notice. 

“Thank you,” she whispered before settling. He turned away from her, his mind a whirl. He was still tense and he felt the way the mattress moved as Lady got comfortable at the foot of the bed. “Relax,” Sansa suddenly said. He gave a small snort, jaw clenching. _Relax indeed._ He then feels her warm hand run down his arm, over his hip, to then rest over his ribcage. His mind short circuits as she presses herself close. “Goodnight Stannis,” she says, pressing a kiss to his neck.

His larger hand finds hers and cups it lightly. “Goodnight Sansa,” he replies, barely audible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I entirely thank (blame?) Sarah Black for making me love this ship :p
> 
> Hopefully, I've represented the ship okay - her work is top-notch ^_^ (and [this fic of hers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002235) inspired me)


End file.
